


She Misses Nothing, Badly

by EmmaVakarian_Theirin



Category: Anthem (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Sandwiches, WHAT MORE COULD YOU WANT?, apart from the option to hug owen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 18:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaVakarian_Theirin/pseuds/EmmaVakarian_Theirin
Summary: The Freelancer doesn't eat much these days, but there's something eating *her* up. Maybe it's about time she took a moment to let things sink in.





	She Misses Nothing, Badly

**Author's Note:**

> i apologise in advance for the dialogue tags but i needed this out :)))))

With the success of the Heart of Rage, everyone came to them for help, now -- or her, rather, no matter how much Haluk tried to insert himself into each contract. There was always something on the job board that needed doing, from a daring rescue to retrieving some minerals out in Bastion . Quite a change from how things were... a while ago.

Gone are the days where she would have to scrap together coin for food, to take  _ anything  _ on the job board if it meant she could eat. Ironically, she still goes hungry, but only because she doesn’t get much time to stop and eat, lately. When she was poor, she was distracted. Now she’s too distracted. 

When there was nothing in their stomachs and nothing to do, Owen always had a way to distract them from the gnawing inside of them . Granted, it usually involved getting into mischief, but the way he would run  off  after getting busted and laugh it off made everything seem less serious, and perhaps it was. But that kind of adrenaline rush doesn’t compare to anything in the field.

Emma lets herself drop onto her bed as a wave of exhaustion washes over her at the thought of such times, of him. She’s tried to push those memories far from her mind as possible , never  ha ving the time or the patience to think about it. What good would it do, anyway? It’ll just make her angry and hurt all over again .

She lets her gaze wander around her room as if it  was  unfamiliar. Her gaze is drawn to the dust long settled on the dining table she’s  rarely sat at , illuminated by the streaks of light poking through the gaps between the blinds on the window. The rest of the room isn’t so different, appearing almost abandoned despite that she returned to it each night. She only uses it to sleep in these days, after all. 

She can’t help but feel bad about it. It wasn’t much to start with, but she  once  took care of it and gave it heart, made it home. It’s still home, but it’s feeling less and less like anything else and she can’t put her finger on why. There’s more to it than simply not being in it enough to care for it. Has she  subconsciously avoided spending time in it, maybe? Buried something she doesn’t want to recover?

If her body wasn’t craving both food and sleep yet denying her both, she wouldn’t let such thoughts bother her and would either leave it be and move on , or get right to the bottom of it in her typical stubborn way... Or maybe that was the problem: she doesn’t leave her own feelings be and always pushes them away. Maybe she needs to let herself be emotional for a moment, whatever the reason.

On top of everything else, no one has brought up the fact that it’s her birthday tomorrow. Not that she’s really brought it up herself before, and she shouldn’t be moping like a child about it, but the last person that mentioned it was Owen, and he didn’t even remember when it was, despite that they met on that very day. But damn, at least he tried. He didn’t know his own, after all.

The hunger starts to fade, but only because the feelings inside her overwhelm it. Funny how he still has that effect on her. If it’s what it takes to fall asleep tonight, she’ll take these memories on.

She thinks back to that fateful day in Ponteix, when she was just a fourteen-year old with a pack of sandwiches and nothing to do.

* * *

Emma  immediately felt him opening her satchel – clearly not a habit of his if he’s not subtle.

Big, blue eyes peeked up at her through curly, untamed, dark brown hair. He smiled at her awkwardly, unsure of how else to react, but his eyes looked apologetic, as if he had little choice in the matter. He didn’t seem the type to put up a fight if she resisted, although he had proceeded to investigate her  moneyless bag instead of trying someone else's that might have actually had something worth taking.

“Were you really trying to steal a  _ sandwich _ ?”

“Kind of? Food is food...”

He doesn’t seem so bad, there’s definitely worse people that could have been stealing from her. He’s probably better off stealing and risking a beating than begging on the streets and feeling ignored. And she does have sandwiches to spare... Let this be her good deed for the day. What does she have to lose except a single sandwich?

“Take it.”

“I swear, I wasn’t going to--” He  shoots up straight  to hand it back before  realising what she’s said. “Wait, what? You’re serious?” He looks genuinely surprised, as if no one has taken pity on him before. Granted, being stolen from hardly inspires remorse, but he seems like a harmless boy just trying to find something to eat, not take your belongings for money and waste it on something he doesn’t need.

She buckles her satchel back up. “Yeah, I have more, anyway. Just... try stay out of trouble?”

“Can’t promise that.” His shocked expression turns back into its former mischievous self, but there’s a look in his eyes as he stares at the sandwich in his hands, something that looks close to wonderment.  “Thanks, mate!” 

She turns back around to what she was doing, which was... nothing, really. She’d been just standing around, exploring Ponteix with her eyes. She had no motive behind the trip to the city beyond exploring and potentially discovering new things about herself by doing so. At least so  far she can say she helped someone in need, despite the introduction. Speaking of which...

“Still here, I see.”  Emma  comments as she glances at him from the corner of her eyes, noting how he hasn’t moved on as he  hoes into his sandwich. “You like standing in this particular spot, too?”

“Well, you told me not to get into trouble, so here I am, not getting into trouble.” He retorts in a casual tone, barely stopping for breath before he takes another bite.

“I see. And if I hadn’t said that, what would you be doing?” She asks, turning to face him and crossing her arms.

He sighs contentedly as he swallows what’s left of the sandwich. “Probably getting into trouble.”

“What kind?”

“Nothing particularly bad, just causing problems with  Regulators  while I’ve got the freedom to, that kind of thing.” He doesn’t meet her gaze, looking around as if what he just said was no big deal.

She raises an eyebrow at that. He looks too innocent to go through said trouble... or maybe that’s the point, but he’s obviously not a decoy that gets paid to do these things. Why  take such risks? She can’t decide if it’s noble or idiotic. “Right, nothing dangerous.”

Now it’s his turn to look at her from the corner of his eyes, the corner of his mouth rising slightly in  that same mischievous grin.  He sure smiles a lot.  “But you said you had more sandwiches, right?”

S haking her head before reaching for another sandwich , she laughs . “You know, there’s other ways to get a girls attention, if that’s what you’re after.” She jokes, almost certain that wasn’t his intention, but wanting to get a reaction out of him.

And it does as she gets a full , proper smile out of him. Or maybe it was the sandwich she handed to him. “Ah, but sometimes the stomach speaks louder than the heart, I’m afraid, mate.” He responds, waving the sandwich around and giving her a wink.

“And the brain.” She adds quickly, trying to suppress the oncoming smirk.

It wipes the  damn grin off his face and she can’t stop herself from laughing at the fake shocked look it turns into. “Hey...!”

She could walk away and be done with this, find herself something to actually do and skip all the banter. If he’s been messing with  Regulators, she really shouldn’t hang around him and become a target by association... unless she were to _willingly_ be his associate.  S he was enjoying the banter, as meaningless as it was, and if he knew how to not get caught ruining gang operations and thus helped innocent people...

“I’m Emma, by the way.” She tells him, extending her arm for a handshake.

“ _ Ohw f _ \--” Mentally kicking himself for trying to talk with his mouth full and looking like an idiot in front of a girl - not that he’s been exactly smart this whole time - he quickly swallows down the chunk of food left in his mouth. “Owen.”

* * *

They’d gotten busted tampering with a Regulator supply document, changing dates and locations so _ they _ would get busted. Fortunately, the one that saw them didn’t have a weapon on them to stop them from fleeing, but that didn’t stop the Regulator from bolting after them at  lively speed. Emma couldn’t help but laugh as she ran for her life. 

They’d been on  _ adventures  _ like this all week, messing around with Regulator’s and either ruining or delaying their plans with the smallest of tricks, or stealing any money they left lying around. It was a distraction from when they had no food left, and Owen was a good distraction, especially when she would draw too much attention to herself.  ‘I like being the  centre of attention,’ he once claimed, although she questioned how true that was, if it was the only attention he would normally get.  Sometimes they got away without anyone noticing, other times they escaped by the skin of their teeth. It was simple, it was dangerous, it kept innocents safe, it felt  _ great _ . If she could turn this into a career, somehow, it would be even greater.

They’d wound up on the roof of an abandoned building far from the Regulator camp. They perched themselves on the edge, laughing the adrenaline off and catching their breath. They don’t talk about their past, their problems, their family or anything. Instead, they sit together in comfortable silence, taking in the glow of the moon  as it lights up the rooftops of the city below, watching the striders as they arrive and leave, feeling the warm breeze blow gently through their hair. There’s nothing to say, nothing to do and nothing in their stomachs, and they don’t care. Their hearts feel full, and that’s all that matters in that moment. It doesn’t feel like it’s been a week since they met, but it’s come to an end and Owen must return to the Satomi tomorrow. But for now, they can enjoy this peaceful  end to an otherwise  exhilarating week .

“Look, look!” Emma suddenly shouts.

Owen looks up and finds a group of javelins flying across the city skyline, briefly casting a shadow on them as they pass the moon. Freelancers, the people  cyphers often dedicate their abilities to.

“That’s  gonna be us someday!” She says, wonder and excitement in her voice.

He’s never really considered the idea of piloting a javelin himself . There’s  rumours that cyphers can’t be pilots, but there’s been little reason to believe that as fact, at least not for all cyphers. Is it something he can  afford to  consider? Or is this one adventure he won’t be going on with her?

Watc h ing the freelancers fly into the horizon, sh e rests her head on his shoulder and he stills. ‘There’s a girl on my shoulder. A  _ pretty  _ girl on my shoulder. What do I do?!’ He tries to banish the thought that it has to mean something, that it’s nothing special to either of them and he’s just excited because it’s the most solid connection he’s had with someone in... forever. He shouldn’t be so quick to let her in like that, considering how quick his own parents were to push him out. But  she doesn’t know that, and  she’s given him no reason to think like that. After all, she’s kept him from starving when she could have reported him or even beaten his ass.

Instead, she’s let him be himself without judgement, even when their little adventures of mischief got them into  life-threatening  trouble. He’s never felt so free in an otherwise predetermined life. He wishes he didn’t have to go back to the Satomi tomorrow, or ever, especially when someone’s shown  him he’s more than just a cypher-to-be. But that’s the life he was born into and the fate he must ultimately accept, no matter what anyone says.

Yet despite that, he can’t stop his mouth from mumbling out the words, “Is that a promise?”

He regrets the words when she feels her head lift from his shoulder.  Of course , it’s not, this was just some brief moment of happiness he let himself believe he had a chance of having again, and now he’s ruined it. He must sound so pathetic. ‘Too many feelings,’ he reminds himself.

And then she’s tousling his hair and laughing under her breath. She liked teasing him on it, always either making it messier than it already was or telling him how ‘those big blue eyes are going to waste hiding behind it.’ He really should do something about it, it’s just been getting in the way, lately, anyhow. Hair or no hair, he’s going to miss this.

“I promise.”

* * *

She launches herself upright, her feelings of exhaustion and hunger long gone and replaced with turmoil. All of this was  _ her _ idea? He’d been chasing a dream she foolishly made him believe in?  _ Promised _ him? Being young and stupid was one thing, but taking someone so vulnerable and rubbing their dream in their face was another. How could she be so naïve? How could she forget all that?

> _“I could be out there in the field with you!” _  
_ “Dial down your boosters, hot shot! With more training, you’ll get your chance, I promise.” _

_ She promised. _

Everything made sense: why he didn’t feel part of the team once Haluk and Faye were back in the picture , why he tried to include himself in everything, why he stopped, why he lost his trust, why he did what he did and left. She would tell him there’s nothing to worry about then give him reason to, encourage him with his pilot lessons then snap at him for trying to prove himself, trying to help her.

She never tried to see things from his perspective in any case, especially not when he went to the Dominion. He had told her how it was to protect the fort, but she didn’t listen. He warned her the Dominion would attack Haluk, and she called him a traitor. And when he came back, when he had suffered for it, she gave him nothing. Who’s the  _ real _ traitor?

Her heart feels ready to burst when she’s disrupted by the sound of something slipping underneath her door – a letter with some job that needs doing that someone didn’t want to post publicly, most likely. She doesn’t want to move to retrieve it, wanting just five minutes to let herself take everything in, but considering how the missive was brought to her directly, it’s likely urgent and needs taking care of soon. Once again, she must push her feelings aside and move on.

She’s tempted to slide off the bed onto her knees and crawl to it, her body feeling heavier than ever, but she won’t let herself crumble like that. Pinching between her eyes in attempt to suppress the sudden headache, she collects what energy she has left and pushes herself off the bed.

Reaching down to grab the letter, she notices odd, hastily written font on the top and bottom edges on one side of the letter, leaving a large blank space while reading, ‘ _ Weather Is Beautiful, Wish You Were Here _ .’  _ Very  _ odd, perhaps some form of joke from Haluk or Matti or someone, but she doesn’t have the mental capacity to question it further before she checks the opposite side for more information.

> _ _ _ 'Happy Birthday!' _ _ _

Her tongue suddenly feels too heavy for her mouth, her legs  trembling . She doesn’t need to read any more to know who the sender is. Everything’s happening too fast at once, but she’s too far gone to stop now. ‘Let it happen,’ she tells herself.

> _ _ _ 'It’s still not today, is it? That’s fine. I’m sure it’s close enough. It’s got to be the right day someday, right?' _ _ _

How close he was...

> _ _ _ 'I wanted to send you one of those postcards with an overly picturesque landscape image on the front, but there aren’t any here. No postcards of any kind, really.  _ _ So _ _ you’ll just have to imagine the “Greetings from beautiful ________!” and pointless gushing about the weather for yourself.' _ _ _

She crumbles to the floor. The letter’s almost pointless, something to say “I want to talk but I don’t know how.” It says nothing but means so much, and all the anguish she’s tried to deny comes flowing out through tears and shaky sobs, arms clutched to her chest. This is what she’s missed—no,  _ misses _ .

She misses the useless banter. Misses the comfortable silences that would follow when nothing wanted to be said rather than  _ had  _ to be said. Misses feeling nothing instead of feeling starved.

She misses Owen.


End file.
